Whisper
by She's So High
Summary: It was a move born of desperation to turn the tide in the war against Voldemort and his followers. But things didn't go quite as planned, and six years later there is still no sign of a savior.


Whisper

By: Lady DeathAngel

Disclaimer: Everything here is property of its wonderful creator, save the plot of the fic and other assorted odds and ends.

Warnings: adult themes, violence, strong imagery (I think, not so much for some people, a bit too much for others. You know how it is), language (moreso later on than now), future slash, etc., etc.

A/N: So, more randomness from the mind of me. I really like this so far (though the next chapter is being a pain in the ass and whereas this one wrote itself, the next is not, curse it!), and I hope you do to! Um, as a sidenote, this story will feature same-sex relationships. It's not in the warning for this chapter, but pay attention to future warnings as things get grimmer and some of our favorite boys get closer. Thanks to my wonderful beta readers Tiina aka Silverlore and Hiccups, who have made this my most thought out piece to date (and hopefully, the first one I actually finish without hating the end result. .). Love you to pieces! And as always, read, enjoy and review!

Perhaps in retrospect, it had been a bad idea. But Cornelius Fudge would say in his defence, that it was the best he could think to do. People were dying and disappearing, fear was rising and pressure was mounting. Action _had_ to be taken, and that was what Fudge was about in those days: taking action.

And so, when Lucius Malfoy approached him with an offer, he couldn't refuse. It was a simple idea. Malfoy resented You-Know-Who for being a half-blood, and felt his position of power wasn't warranted. He suggested a coup d'etat, and all he would need to make it work, would be Harry Potter.

Getting the boy would be easier said than done. He was under constant guard and, even alone, he probably would be a formidable opponent. And then there was the fact that the job wouldn't fall to _just_ acquiring Harry Potter. According to an age old prophesy, that Malfoy had somehow gotten a hold of, when even You-Know-Who could not, Potter was the only who could kill the Dark Lord, and Malfoy needed him to do just that.

"I can make him kill the Dark Lord. However, Imperius will work _only_ on the weak-willed." Malfoy had said. "And that boy is anything but. He's thrown off the curse before, and I witnessed it. To do what I must, he cannot be at full power, which means he cannot be at full cognizance."

They needed more help, and they found it in the Order of the Phoenix.

Certainly several members balked, among them the Weasley brood, a werewolf and a Metamorphmagus. But for every one opposed, two other supported Fudge's and Malfoy's course of action, and they were more than willing to help.

From there things progressed smoothly. Those members in the Order on their side, managed to kidnap Harry with no one the wiser, save a select few who were easily silenced. He was kept sedated and under constant surveillance, until You-Know-Who gathered his Death Eaters together, and the coup was staged.

Perhaps Fudge thought he would be a hero. But he wasn't. And instead he made the world an even darker place. He didn't know what happened, how things went wrong, but in the end they did. And this time there was no Harry Potter to save the day.

The world was truly a wonderful place. At least, that was what He said, and He was never wrong. With the number of half-bloods and Muggleborns decreasing exponentially, all those infused with the bloodlust brought on by pure-blood mania were happy. Or, at least, their leader was happy, so they _pretended_ to be happy.

For all intensive purposes, the world was now theirs. Pure-bloods ran things and the half bloods and Muggleborns still alive were no better than slaves. Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley weren't much different from each other anymore. Dark Magic was the norm. It was the world of nightmares.

In the middle of the nightmare, Lucius Malfoy reigned. The new Dark Lord. The new name to be feared. He walked the streets with his head held high and, projected an aura of one immortal. And there wasn't anyone left to oppose him, with a chance of winning. Harry Potter had disappeared, Dumbledore was dead and the Order no longer existed.

Lucius should have been comfortable, but as happy as he was he wondered if perhaps he s to take the final steps to ensure his security. And so, he enlisted the help of several spies to keep an eye on things, and report anything of importance. The night the perfect world the Dark Lord had worked so hard to make began to change, he found himself meeting with the spy he'd recruited several months earlier.

"Nifty place for a private meeting." she said, tugging on one, short, chestnut brown curl. "Sure you don't want to just call Rita Skeeter and tell her our plan?"

Lucius sneered.

"She knows her life depends on projecting the proper message to my people. She wants to live as much as any coward, and so I know she'll do what I want her to."

"Yeah? Well, you _are_ the Dark Lord."

"If you weren't so useful, Blaise, I might be inclined to punish you."

She smiled, her teeth glinting in the pub's semi-darkness.

"So, to business then. I have good news, good news and bad news."

He lifted an aristocratic eyebrow. "Bad first, I suppose."

"The last of the Unspeakables is dead. Someone slipped her a suicide draught and we couldn't get to her in time to save her."

His eyes narrowed in a glare.

"Tragic. And the Department of Mysteries . . .?"

"Was raided. Luckily, _they_ all died. Unfortunately, we don't know why and the people sent to investigate dropped dead as well."

He nodded slowly.

"Find anyone with information, and take them to our research team. In the meantime, stay out of there. No more useless deaths."

"Right. So, for good news . . . the small band of resisting squibs in Italy was effectively destroyed and, _even_ better, we've found Harry Potter."

"Oh really? That _is_ good news indeed. Blaise, I think my son may actually prove useful for this. I'd like to see him."

"Yes, sir."

Sibyll Trelawney was a shell of her former self. She hadn't seen the light of day in too many years to count, her skin was pale and pasty, she was too thin for any healthy grown woman to be, and she never spoke anymore. Not that that was her choice. Shed been cursed and the only words she ever uttered were True Prophesies.

She was under constant watch and hadn't had a prophecy in years. And then, one night as spring came to a slow end, she went rigid in the bed she rarely left, her eyes rolling back in her head, and she spoke.

_"The night of the unholy moon draws near_

_Where the new Lords reign shall be at its end._

_The prison of those thought lost forever_

_Will destroy itself and those lost souls will rise again._

_Beware, for Dark Magic has birthed a change._

_Powerful though the current regime may be,_

_The new army arrives with power untamed_

_Infused with Ancient Magic centuries unseen._

_The side of those whose blood flows pure_

_Will appear to gain the upper hand_

_When an old saviour will save again_

_Beneath a full moon the Dark Lords reign shall end_

_And beneath the new moon it all begins."_

The two Wizards on watch that night didn't know what they were seeing. They stared with wide eyes as the woman trailed off, the prophesy at its end, and began to convulse on her bed.

"Get the Head Healer," the shortest of the two Wizards ordered. "Now!"

The other took off running, the heavy door to the Observation Room hurling open with a wave of a hand. In the meantime, the shorter man was busy chanting spell after spell to try and sedate the woman in the tiny chamber, but nothing was working. Her body had arched up in the bed, her weight on the base of her skull and her tailbone, her spinal cord curving sharply at a painful angle. She was shaking, her bony fingers clenching and unclenching at nothing.

And all of a sudden, a terrible scream rent the air. Her mouth was open, the almost bloodless skin of her cheeks stretched taut to the point he was sure it would simply tear, and he was sure if he ever heard a banshee, it would sound just like this.

He stood slowly, scared to look away but just as scared to be where he was, seeing what he was. She was tossing and turning now, clutching at her wiry hair with her gaunt hands, still screaming. She threw herself off of the bed. There was a thump, and then she was quiet. He breathed a sigh, hoping she'd finally worn herself out, and turned just as his watch partner returned with the Head Healer.

"What happened?" the woman asked, looking anxiously behind him. "Where is she?"

"She, um, fell off the bed."

She gave him an incredulous look and pushed past him brusquely.

"Simon says she Prophesied."

"Yes, she did."

"Good, good. I'll just give her a quick check-up then, and well make sure the charm is still working . . ."

She finished her sentence on a screech as the woman in the room hurtled herself at the glass with a loud scream. The two men backed away, stiff with surprise and no small amount of fear. She threw herself at the glass again, and once more before backing away. He could have sworn, in that moment, that she was staring straight at them, her eyes narrowed.

"What's she doing?" Simon asked nervously.

A second later, the heavy pane of magically reinforced glass splintered into thousands of shards that cut their skin, inflicting dozens of cuts all over the Head Healer's body, some small incisions, others long gashes. Simon dropped to the ground, clutching his eyes and howling in pain. She saw blood seeping through his fingers and looked down at her own hands, a bit surprised to see that glass pieces were imbedded in the flesh, peeking through the back of her hands and scraping at the ground through her palms when she shifted them slightly. To her left, near her sluggishly bleeding wrist the other man was lying still, his back oozing blood from the dozens of shards that had gone through his skin at an unimaginable speed, most sticking up like some grotesque rock garden. He looked rather like a peg-board, she thought dazedly.

When she looked up, the woman was hanging onto the edge of the table like a lifeline, her legs spindly limbs that apparently didn't want to hold her weight.

"Must . . . leave . . ." she whispered hoarsely. "You . . . never . . . haven't . . . speak . . . must . . . get . . . away . . ." She doubled over in pain, grabbing at her head and screeching. A horrendous, pain-racked sound that made the Healer's own head feel as if it was being split open.

And then, there was an eerie silence, in which the woman just sat, doubled over.

"Happening . . . again . . ." she murmured before all around her things caught flame.

Rolls of parchment detailing her behaviour over the past five years burned an unholy shade of red. Screams sounded in the halls as the flames roared through the room, burning Simon and the Healer alive, turning the three bodies into ashes. As if alive the fire took flight, charging through the building, burning everyone and everything in its path. The room shook as the ceiling gave way, wood caving in on itself.

The fire roared on, but Sibyll Trelawny had disappeared.

Draco Malfoy hadn't spoken to his father in almost two years. He'd seen him around. The worlds newest Dark Lord made plenty of time to appear to his adoring public, or to crush another innocent nest of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. But as far as Lucius Malfoy was concerned, he didn't have a son anymore. One with a use anyway. So to get a Summon was probably one of the greatest shocks of his life, leastways since the coup.

Blaise Zabini was the one sent to him. He found it hard to believe that the sneering woman in front of him had ever been madly in love with him, and he was suddenly very glad he'd turned her down when he had. She was every inch the Black Widow.

"So, Draco, at long last we have a use for you," she purred in a condescending tone. "Our Lord would like to see you. You'll get your task from him. Aren't you happy?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Of course, Zabini, dearest. This _is_ my happy face."

She glared at him, but chose not to dignify him with a response other than to order him curtly to at least change his clothes.

"You can't appear before Our Lord dressed like a Muggle. Why you wear those clothes when it's a death wish is beyond my comprehension. Where _did_ your pride go?"

He shrugged on a robe over the black silk shirt and jeans he was wearing, and narrowed his eyes at her.

"_My_ _pride _didn't go anywhere. Its just below me to kiss other peoples' dung-covered boots to add an extra day to my rapidly shortening life-span."

She growled low in her throat, a warning, and then turned on her heel.

"There's a portkey that's set to activate in less than two minutes, so hurry up."

He followed her out of the small home she'd found him in, their pace slightly slower than a flat dash. The portkey turned out to be a tarnished necklace that Blaise held out to him. He latched on to the flimsy chain just as it activated, and there was the usual fanfare of naval pulling, whirring, and much too much physical contact with the woman next to him.

They landed in a house he recognized all too well. The Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lords lair. He glanced around as Blaise pocketed the useless portkey, and realized that he was in the hall just outside of his fathers study. Well, it was probably more like a throne room now. He heard a cleared throat and turned. Blaise rolled her brown eyes and then opened the door without a knock. Draco raised his eyebrows.

_ Oh, aren't _we_ a bit familiar?_

"I've got him," she said, bowing slightly at the waist once and then sinking into an almost embarrassing position of acquiescence.

Draco looked at her with a furrowed brow, disgusted. This was what they were reduced to? Grovelling at the feet of a man who hadn't even earned their respect, but had been handed the power by the very people they were killing across the country? He looked up to find a pair of red eyes he could barely recognize staring down at him.

His father hadn't changed much in two years. He looked as young as he had during the coup, and if rumours had any basis in fact he would look that young forever. He carried himself as haughtily as ever, but there was something beneath it that slithered up and over and around itself. Coiled like a snake writhing in slime was the power of a man who was no longer himself. Draco's lip curled as he looked up a raised pulpit at him.

_ I suppose this is what he wanted. More power than he could possibly handle on his own. Not enough to satisfy him. _

"Welcome home." he said in an amiable tone. "But I'm afraid this meeting is to be all business."

"I expected nothing less." Draco told him in a tone that sounded respectful. Awed even. But everyone knew it was anything but.

"I'm in too good a mood to cater to your petty tantrums." Lucius informed him. "And anyway, the sooner this meeting is over, the sooner you'll be put on a task, and the sooner my reign shall be full and complete."

"What am I to do?" he asked.

"We have found Harry Potter." Lucius said. "We all know, of course, what that boy stands for, as does the rest of the Wizarding community. Which is why it would behoove us to rid ourselves of this nuisance as soon as possible. After all, if anyone could stage an uncontrollable uprising, it would be Potter."

"Where can I find him?"

"He was last spotted working in the . . . seedier areas of London." Blaise offered with a small smirk.

Draco turned to her, an eyebrow lifted.

"And he was under our noses this whole time?"

She shook her head.

"No, actually. Our sources say that after he disappeared, he was found wandering around Amsterdam by one of our own, who is gathering our forces together over there. Apparently he doesn't remember anything at all about his life before he was found. He's only been in London for about one month, and he's quite unrecognisable."

"You've seen him then?"

"Oh yes."

Draco was a bit unnerved by the slight dilation of her pupils and the predatory way she smiled. It was always a dangerous thing when a Death Eater was turned on. It could never mean anything good.

"I'm leaving it to you to gain his trust. Bring him to our side. There is much I'd like to . . . discuss with him. And when I'm finished, I'm leaving it to you to kill him." Lucius said before waving his hand slightly and turning his head away from the pair of them.

And as soon as it had all begun, the meeting was over, and Draco and Blaise were making their way out of the Manor, the former trying to ignore the echoes of screams that may or may not have been coming from the dungeons miles below them.

"He's working at a club." Blaise said, as they walked. "Its called Moonstar. Only Wizards are there, of course, but there is a lot of Muggle, Half-blood and Mudblood activity in the area. We're going to cease our operations there for a couple of days so your job will be easier. If you do it right, perhaps the next time I see him he'll be torturing some Wizard's bastard."

Her smile was decidedly off-putting.

After a ten-minute walk, they were outside. She handed him a portkey to the flat they'd acquired for him in London.

"It'll activate in a few minutes." she said, making to leave. She stopped after taking step and said over her shoulder, "Have fun with this one, yeah? Goddess knows I would." And she was gone.

Draco just stood, holding a ring he recognized as one, which had belonged to him long ago. Trying not to think about the task he'd been given, he tilted his head up to the dark sky. The night air was cool, and a distant rumble foretold a storm.

_ How fitting._


End file.
